


Improvisation is key

by LittleLalaith



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLalaith/pseuds/LittleLalaith
Summary: When a troop of circus performers entertain the guests of the Lettenhove Yuletide Ball, Jaskier finds himself completely smitten.All he has to do now is convince the troop to let their little runaway join the group...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Improvisation is key

Ok, so maybe this hadn't been Jaskier's cleverest idea to date.

When he had told his father that he was going to run away and join the circus, he probably shouldn't have been so literal about it... especially considering the fact that he hadn't exactly asked the circus staff whether they were willing to let him join before hiding himself away in one of the trailers. Which meant that they would most likely discover him at the next stop and throw him out, leaving him lost and penniless in an unknown town.

It was all that sexy stunt-rider’s fault.

Jaskier's father had been hosting the annual Lettenhove Yuletide Ball and had hired the travelling performers as entertainment for his guests. It wasn't an unusual occurrence; the year previously it had been stage actors, the year before that had been court magicians, and there had been a year where a giant ice sculpture was carved in the likeness of the Lettenhove Stag. But this year, by far, had been Jaskier's favourite.

The ’Witcher & Co.’ Circus was a small affair, containing only four performers and an equal number of horses, but their abilities were unrivalled. The oldest of their group demonstrated exceptional weapon-work such as snuffing out candles with naught but a whip, occasionally placing a volunteer between two targets and astounding the crowd when he was able to hit both targets with throwing knives while blindfolded. The youngest demonstrated skills of coordination and dexterity; juggling anything that was handed to him, regardless of size or shape; or perching on a tower of moving parts while keeping a flame-lit torch balanced neatly on his head. The third performed feats of strength and endurance; lifting any number of volunteers from the crowd, bending metal bars and astounding the guests with his ability to ‘breathe fire’.

But it had been the final performer that had truly captured Jaskier’s heart.

The guests had been ushered out into the winter courtyard, bundled in coats and furs against the harsh snowy air. But the platinum haired rider wore nothing but a plain jerkin, tight trousers and leather chest armour, which allowed Jaskier to catch a good view of his strong arms and powerful thighs. He was beautiful. All chiseled features and piercing golden-brown eyes, his mannerisms aloof and mysterious.

This performer worked with his horse, throwing himself over and under the cantering animal, achieving incredible feats of strength and agility. He was fearless, powerful. But Jaskier knew from his work with Pegasus, that it took a lot of compassion and patience to bond so fully with an animal. Especially one as temperamental as a horse. It spoke of more than just strength; it spoke of his compassion and his kindness of heart. And that, more than anything else, drew Jaskier in.

By the end of the display, the young Viscount was speechless. He watched the performer dismount and reward his steed, even as the crowd departed and made their way back inside. He wanted to approach him, to congratulate him. Hell, to ask him whether he might fancy being Jaskier’s personal stable-man. But his father’s hand gripped painfully at his shoulder and guided him forcibly inside.

As much as his father might turn a blind eye to Jaskier’s ‘choice’ of attractions, he often intervened when he caught wind of a potential scandal. Making out with a traveler at a highly reputed Yuletide ball was probably on the higher end of the scandal list… Jaskier pulled his arm free and stormed into the ball, doing his best to enjoy the rest of the evening. But it was no good. Each time he closed is eyes, he saw the performer on his horse. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what it might be like to study a skill like that, to travel the world and do what you loved for the entertainment of others. 

More importantly, he wondered what it might be like to travel with someone like that. To be able to watch them perform and rehearse every day. He caught himself daydreaming about life in the road; stopping in town after town and braving the dangers of the world as a team. He wondered whether they all had their own trailers, or whether he would need to share a bunk with someone. And that thought sparked a lot of other, less 'appropriate' fantasies...

The more he thought about that life, the more he realised that it was something he had yearned for his entire life. Not stuck in the oppressive role of a noble, but being free to roam the continent as he pleased. He wanted to live a life without expectation. He wanted to be able to walk in the world as himself, not having to hide his desires or attractions for the sake of propriety. All of the gold in the world couldn't buy freedom like that. So, maybe he was better off without it. As much as he adored his finely tailored wardrobe, it was not enough to sustain him. He needed new experiences, autonomy and an opportunity to share his passions with the world.

It didn't take long for Jaskier to convince himself of the benefits that a traveler's life might offer him. And it took even less time for him to pack a few essentials and escape into the courtyard. Luckily, the performers were inside, eating the warm meal they had been promised in exchange for their performances. So, Jaskier was able to sneak into one of the trailers and secret himself away on one of the hay boxes. If he could just keep himself hidden until the next town, maybe they wouldn't march him back home to his father. Maybe...just maybe... they would let him join them. 

-

The cart had been moving for what felt like hours, but without any windows to watch the sun by, it was impossible to tell. He might have been a mile from home, or a hundred miles; either way, it was too late to go back now. He had committed himself to a life of poverty and performance, for better or worse. He just hoped that the circus members would accept their little stowaway into the group rather than casting him out into a strange, unknown landscape.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cart stopped and Jaskier's heart began to beat harder. This was it. They had stopped at their camp, or the next town, and it was only a matter of time before they found him. And if they didn't find him, he'd eventually have to come out for food or water. At the thought of water, he swallowed dryly and realised that the latter option may be more pressing than he realised.

As he was trying to figure out the best way to make himself known, the trailer door opened with a creak; Jaskier cursed under his breath and tried to curl himself up as tightly as possible, hoping that they would walk by and he would be able to approach them in a more charming fashion than just being discovered in a hay bin. No such luck. With a crack and a metallic creak, the lid to the hay box was lifted and Jaskier was met with the momentarily surprised (and then worryingly angry?...concerned?) expression of the performer who had worked with the horses. 

"You're not a hay bale," the performer noted with a deadpan tone. His voice was deep, graveled, and Jaskier's heart doubled its tempo against his ribcage. "I'm not sure I can feed you to the horses, either. They're not used to such rich food."

"Heh, ha. Funny. I'm not..." Jaskier fumbled, his usual charm and eloquence failing him spectacularly. "So, here's the thing."

"I'm listening," the performer answered, not making any move to step back or to let Jaskier out of the box. He just waited, a pale eyebrow raised in a questioning arch. 

"I want to join you."

There was a beat of silence, then the performer tilted his head and gave Jaskier a condescending little smile that seemed to say 'oh buddy, is the life of a Viscount not comfortable enough for you?'. Jaskier looked away, embarrassed, but caught sight of his lute and held it up for the man to see. 

"I'm a musician... a bard, if you will. I want to be able to travel with you, to perform my music in the multiple cities and towns of the region. I could..." he scrambled, desperately trying to think of a way that he could prove himself useful to the group. "I could be your barker!"

The performer scoffed lightly, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He stepped back and offered Jaskier a hand, hoisting him out of the box with surprising strength. Now that Jaskier could get a good look at him up close, he realised that the performer was younger than his platinum white hair suggested; it was also wildly aware of the close proximity between them, owing to the tight space of the trailer and the hay box behind him. 

"We've only travelled around ten miles, you shouldn't have too much trouble walking back," the performer answered, seemingly discarding Jaskier's explanation and request to join them. 

"But, I want to travel with you. I don't want to go back," Jaskier explained, his tone growing firmer now. 

"Look, kid. Sorry, _your lordship_..." the last word was drawn out, a touch of mockery in his intonation. "You've got it made up in that manor. The life of a traveler and a circus performer is hard, and it's not something you take on lightly. I know you probably want to escape whatever pressures and obligations you have as a Viscount but this isn't the solution. You've had your little rebellion, so go home."

"No."

Jaskier stood his ground, shoulders set and his gaze fixed firmly on the performer. The traveler frowned, surprised by his insistence. 

"This isn't some ill thought out act of rebellion," Jaskier contested, although the 'ill thought out' part might have been true. "I want to perform. I have dedicated my life to the study of my arts and I can't express those songs and poems to a plethora of empty rooms for a single day more. I want to travel the continent. I want to share what I've learned with the world. And I understand that it will be hard, I know that the world will not provide the same quality of luxury that I have been accustomed to. But that is a sacrifice that I am willing to make."

The door at the far end of the trailer opened, and another of the performers peeked inside, no doubt investigating the source of the noise. "Geralt? Who are you- Ah, stowaway?"

"Stowaway," Geralt confirmed. 

"Auditioning performer, actually," Jaskier corrected. 

The new performer scoffed a laugh and opened the doors wider, "Alright then. Come out of the trailer and show us what you've got."

"Lambert," Geralt warned. 

"Oh, come on. He says he wants to audition, the least we can do is give him a chance to perform before we send him packing."

Geralt sighed and took a bundle of hay from the box, carrying it out with him on one shoulder. "Come on, then. You can show us a song and we'll let Vesemir be the judge."

Jaskier grinned and followed him out, waving sheepishly to the other two performers that were engaged in the task of setting up a campfire. 

"We got a wannabe circus performer on our hands," Lambert explained, guiding Jaskier to the side of the fire pit before taking a seat on one of the felled logs that served as benches. 

The eldest of the group stood up and gave Jaskier a once over, searching for something - although Jaskier wasn't sure what. After a long while, he nodded and stood back, gesturing for Jaskier to go on. The Viscount hesitated for a moment, then snapped out of his stupor and brought his lute around, readying his fingers against the fretless neck of the instrument. 

Taking his time with the introduction, Jaskier played them a song he'd perfected over the last few years; it was a ballad about the strength of wild creatures in the world, but the language was crafted to be vague - pointing both at beast and human alike. He figured it might be something they would find some praise in, hopefully seeing themselves in his writing. As he saw them relaxing into their viewing, he smiled and started to wander amongst them, making his point stronger as he sang verses relating to each of their strengths. By the end, the youngest of the performers seemed to be enjoying himself, even if the other three were regarding Jaskier with a neutral (but non-hostile) regard. 

"Well... what do you think? I could perform between acts, keep the crowd busy while you set the stage. I could draw in a crowd during public performances. Whatever you have need for, I can do it," Jaskier suggested, taking a seat near Vesemir. "I understand you caution, but I didn't follow you out of some vague whim. This is not about rebellion or some foolish fantasy. I have dedicated my life to music and I wish to share it... please."

Vesemir sighed softly, scratching at his jaw as he mulled something over. Eventually, he nodded and looked to the young Viscount, "Alright. You can travel with us for the next few towns and we'll see how you go. But if you cost us more in resources than you're able to bring in through your performances, you're out."

Jaskier nodded, confident that the caveat wouldn't come into affect. "I won't let you down."

"Hm, see to it that you don't. Geralt, he'll be bunking with you."

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat before tripping over itself to catch up. Sharing a bunk with Geralt. The hot one with the horses. The man Jaskier had not so subtly been eyeing up during the Yuletide ball. Oh god, this was going to be heavenly and hellish, all in one stroke. He just hoped that he would be able to control his hands. 

"Me?! Why do I get lumped with the fop?" Geralt protested, brushing hay from his jerkin. 

"Because you pulled that stunt with Filomena, specifically after I told you not to," Vesemir reasoned, shrugging. 

Geralt opened his mouth to protest but then closed it, clearly trying to hold back some kind of expletive. Once he got it under control, he sighed and looked at Jaskier. "You're lucky you're cute. Come on, I'll show you to our trailer."

Cute... He had actually called Jaskier 'cute'. Did that mean... Jaskier could barely stop himself from grinning as he trailed after Geralt. If he was reading him right, this might not be such a bad bed-share after all.


End file.
